


you know me, i had plans (but they just disappeared)

by wolfiery (asswords)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward Flirting, Baseball Player Derek, First Crush, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:58:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8819464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asswords/pseuds/wolfiery
Summary: “Stiles,” Erica chimes brightly, with a sharp edge to her red-painted grin that makes him feel a prickle of concern. This was a catwoman here, he could tell. “We've been telling Derek that he can't expect to go through his whole life wearing a cap and a basic t-shirt like a classic pro-sport cliché. What do you think?”Instead of answering right away, he turns to Derek on his right and tries to quickly look him over, but then he sees the way Derek's tan forearms have veins and the baby blue shirt stands out against his skin. The cap is showing his big ears and highlights his dark eyelashes under the hood and so to him, he's pretty sure the guy is too fucking beautiful. He swallows quickly and looks back to both of them, quickly answering, “He looks fine.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this was in my drafts forever but I just had to give it an ending cause it was nearly finished so I added some things which I think improved the whole thing overall? Either way, I'm SO happy I finished it
> 
> This was just inspired by me thinking if Stiles had a hot college boyfriend who plays baseball, it'd be Derek.
> 
> Title from 'Little Black Submarines' by the Black Keys.
> 
> I rated this M mostly for swearing and drug use, no smut, sorry!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Stiles hates his job. If he were Lydia, he'd be able to complain to the grey old man who is his manager named Bobby to get promoted to assistant manager within five minutes.

But Stiles is not Lydia, and is therefore pulling a night shift at the gas station he works at. It's awful, turning 18, honestly. It means he's allowed to be out any time he wants, which his manager takes advantage of for shitty low paying hours.

He's exhausted since he decided to spend most of the night getting high with Scott and coming into work still a little buzzed.

Not a good idea on his part. Whatever, he's allowed to be whiny for once. After walking into AP Calculus ridiculously unprepared for the test, and then making his Chemistry teacher angry because he’d broken a test tube, and dealing with bitchy customers for the last three hours, he'd say that merits a free complaining card.

He's in the middle of flipping through another page in the article about the origin of the coywolf species when the automatic doors slide open. Stiles would like to think he's eloquent when he looks up and sees his former major crush and high school legend, Derek Hale, but in all honesty, he can feel his mouth hanging open for the world to see.

He would pretend he's grown past his crush on the former captain of the baseball team while he was dorky and wore too much gaming t-shirts and fidgeted all the time back in freshman year, but it's a bit difficult when the guy walks in looking better than ever with a five o'clock shadow and a black leather jacket.

Stiles attempts to glance back at the article, but his focus is a little scattered and he keeps reading the same sentence over and over again, too busy thinking. He looks up for the briefest second possible, and sees Derek pulling out something like a Vitamin Water or some other health drink. Stiles puts the magazine down and taps his fingers, looking around the store and trying to think of what else he has to straighten up and stock on shelves, but that train of thought is broken in half when he seems to have missed Derek walking up to the counter.

Stiles straightens his posture a bit and tries to remind himself that he’s a senior now, and by no means as meek and unpopular (and small - the growth spurt was a pleasant surprise) as he was when he was 14.

If he’s learned anything since then, it was that talking is sometimes, two out of four chances, his forte. “Hi, how’s it going?” Stiles asks easily while Derek places it on the counter.

Derek actually looks relaxed and casual, even though his head is ducked down, when he replies, “Good, man, thanks. You?” Derek's eyes widen slightly when he looks up at him after the question. Stiles himself isn't sure what the guy was expecting.

“Totally fine!” he practically squeaks,then recollects, “Anything else for you?”

It's three in the morning and instead of wondering what Derek is doing out so late, Stiles is trying to figure out to keep his mouth shut from blabbing _Hi, I went to all your games, do you remember me from high school?_

Hah. As if.

“Yeah, actually, a pack of Marlboro Reds,” which okay, Stiles was not expecting _that_.

“Oh, huh, okay,” he mumbles to himself and picks out the pack of cigarettes while Derek pulls out his cash and searches for his ID. “That’ll be $8.63.” Stiles takes the money Derek offers but waves him off when it comes to the ID, “It’s cool, man, don’t worry about it. I know who you are.” He really hopes it didn’t come out as horrible as he expects and sneaks a look at Derek for a moment, who’s raising an eyebrow.

The intense gaze makes Stiles blush a little, but he holds steady when Derek asks. "Do I know you?"

He raises his eyebrows in surprise, " _What_? Uh, no, I just, well you're Derek Hale. You got that scholarship for pro college baseball. It's just awesome. For this town. And for you, I guess, as well?" So much for that pathetic attempt at ‘holding steady’, dear god, he’d kill for a hole to hide in right now.

"Thanks, I guess,” he gets in response, as well as a small, sincere smile and something about the humble part of it all makes Stiles unstable heart melt. Derek drops his mouth open and then shuts it abruptly and he’s not really sure why, but the move makes Stiles have something just _settle_ inside of him and suddenly, he really just wants to touch Derek. It's bizarre as his emotions have been in long time. Stiles glances up from the register to see the guy’s head tilted to the side.

“Are you sure I don’t know you? What's your name?"

The question is simple enough but Stiles' fingers betray him and fumble in getting the change out of the cash register. Honestly, he thought it was a perfect opportunity for himself to move on from a dumb crush if said guy has been in college for the last three years with only occasional visits to home. Really, he thought he had a much better handle on all things Derek Hale. He shouldn't be a mess, this obviously shouldn't be a big deal.

"Stiles," he says in a rush, tapping his fingers on the countertop while he hands the change back to Derek because he doesn't know what else to do with them. "Stiles. Stilinski, it's uh, a nickname. Self-chosen, really - I was oddly obsessed with Buffy when I was little and Giles was the super informative mediator between the bad shit and the books. So yeah, then Stiles rhymed." What the hell is he even talking about? He doesn’t hand out his name origin story like this all the time, so he’s really disappointed in his lack of mouth control.

Derek laughed, like it was an afterthought, grateful for the story regardless. "It suits you. Oh, Sheriff's son, right? You were, what, two years behind me?"

"Well, three years, actually, but yeah, yep, that's me," He sidesteps a little awkwardly, swaying on his feet and waves. He can’t believe his typical freshman crush on a senior is still this ridiculous. Derek is 21 now and still makes Stiles feel like he's 15 and foolishly pining.

"See you around, Stiles," Derek says, ducking his head down and smiling on his way out.

Stiles spends the majority of the rest of his shift in a pretty decent state of daydreaming and fantasizing after that, but when he gets to leave work, he pretty much chalks up the idea of seeing Derek again to low odds.

 

\-----

 

Stiles lands stomach first on top of Lydia's bed. His shift ended at four in the morning and Lydia texted him saying she was being an insomniac and that he should come over after work.

It's Friday night (ok, _Saturday_ morning), they can do whatever they want. They’re adults. Despite his dad constantly remarking on every immature thing he’s taken advantage of since he turned into a legal adult.

"Ugh. He looks so good. He’s got scruff now. _Scruff_ , Lydia. He’s a real man and a glorious baseball player and he knew who I was. What do I _do_?” Stiles whines to himself, while looking at Lydia’s ceiling from where he’s lying down in her bed. Her sheets are amazingly fluffy and comfortable and if his hetero crush on Lydia all those years ago wasn’t erased by his attraction to Derek’s arms, then he would have definitely loved to be in Lydia’s bed all the time.

Unfortunately for him, Derek’s arms are even more sinful now than they were in high school. There goes that theory.

Lydia, sitting cross-legged beside him, rolls her eyes as she flips through another page in the TIME magazine she’s reading. "Stiles," she says, but he’s already freaked by how much she can express in just saying his name. “I thought you said Derek was unimportant in your realm of important people the moment he graduated. I remember this, I have good memory.”

It's true, Stiles had been satisfying the consistent growling in his stomach with a Churro when a group of seniors had entered the cafeteria with loud cheers at their last day. Derek had been among them, a bright grin on his face and a leggy, stunning brunette's arm around him, his cheerleader girlfriend, Paige. Lydia and Scott had turned to give him knowing and expecting looks. His mouth still stuffed with sugar, he officially declared his crush over on the reality that he'd most likely only see Derek again through his success in the baseball league.

Stiles rolls over and buries his face into her spare pillow, just as fluffy as the blanket, "Don't be mean."

She folds the corner of the magazine with a heavy sigh and sets it down. “Okay, fine, would you like to have him? I can help you get him."

“Why are you still being mean?” He pouts stubbornly, sitting up now to face her. Maybe he’s not exactly in the mood to be teased about the possibility of getting with Derek Hale.

Lydia doesn’t seem to care since she whacks him on the back of his head with the magazine. She pays no mind as he quietly mouths _'ow_ '. Those magazines aren’t that light. This is not good friendship etiquette, in his opinion.

"I’m serious. Look, you said it yourself. Derek has grown into a very fine specimen of man, therefore, you’re best solution would be to act like a man and ask him out. Directly."

“Right, sure, just go up to him and say ‘Hey, I don’t mean to be weird but three years ago I merged our last names in my math notebook. Would you like to get dinner?’,” Stiles can’t help but be snarky because his ruthless, stunning best friend doesn’t seem to understand that he’s not exactly eloquent or mature, as much as he pretends to be.

“Did you really?” She tilts her head.

“I wasn’t good at math freshman year,” Stiles remarks with a wave of his hand.

“Stiles, you deserve good things,” she insists, and it’s so incredibly sincere that it makes him fidget in his seating for a moment and shift his eyes away.

“Whatever,” he sighs, defeated because Lydia is always right and he can’t be mad at her for being so flawless. “If I see him again before he leaves, I promise I’ll try.”

“Good,” she grins, like she’s won an argument. Although, it is entirely possible he’s just committed himself to a moment of pure humiliation because of her. “Besides, college boys _love_ high school legal meat.”

"You would know," Stiles retorts immediately, smirking. Lydia scoffs but Stiles can tell she's actually laughing if her small grin is anything to come by.

"Dick," she huffs, smiling.

Then she whacks him with the magazine again.

It's okay though, cause she makes it up to him with a glass of wine and pleasant company.

 

\-----

 

Stiles is on a different shift but he gets off earlier than four at least, which he's happy about. He’d love to go home and cuddle into his bed with a modest sized joint and a whole lot of Netflix movies.

The problem with his job now is he is equally eager to avoid Derek and hope for him to wander into the store at the same time. Stiles loves Lydia, he does, but he really doesn’t want to make good on his promise just yet. Sue him if he’s not impatient to be rejected. Who would be?

He's walking towards his car in the parking lot when a familiar black Camaro pulls into a parking space.

Fate seems to favor strawberry blonde math geniuses rather than him.

Derek steps out of the car and Stiles is just about to wave quickly and jump into his car when a gorgeous dark-haired beauty steps out of the passenger seat. His heart _sinks_. Of course Derek would have a girlfriend who doesn't look like she'd take bullshit and be straight and basically think of Stiles as the guy who works at a gas station. He's a _moron_ for hoping otherwise.

He turns his back on the Camaro to slide into his car, thinking he'll finally get around to watching Ip Man when he hears running footsteps.

"Hey, Stiles, hold up!" Derek runs up to his rolled down window and perches himself there, out of breath and with a heart-stopping grin.

"I thought that was you," he says, while Stiles just kind of stares. He should really say something instead of looking at the way Derek's chest rises and falls. Soon. Now, maybe.

"Oh, uh, hi. What are you doing out so late?" And oh god, he sounds like an old _man_ scolding teenagers.

"I'm about to head to a party with my sister," Derek looks at the gas station and then back to Stiles. "Are you done with work? You should come with us."

"Oh, I don't know, I'm pretty beat - hold up, did you say sister?" Stiles blurts and then flushes, looking at anywhere besides Derek, which is pretty hard to do since he's right _there_. He's a colossal embarrassment.

Derek doesn't say anything, but the smile lingers on, almost knowingly. Stiles doesn't know if he can trust himself around a smile like that, saying yes would always be too easy, which is just the pathetic he wanted to eradicate.

"Yeah, my sister," he scans over Stiles face once but curiously. Stiles needs to sign his death certificate for feeling so scrutinized under his gaze.

"Well, I'd uh, love to, I mean. If you're sure I won't intrude or anything, yeah, I could go for a beer," Stiles says, mouth running ahead of him.

"Oh, Sheriff’s kid not so innocent, huh?” Derek teases but Stiles can tell there’s a little surprise somewhere in there too.

He feels hot all over and resists rolling his eyes, “I’m not a kid.”

Derek smiles, sincere and soft and looks over his shoulder to see his sister coming out of the store. "Well, just follow us there?"

"Okay," Stiles squeaks because he already feels like he needs to contain his snark a little bit if he wants to have a chance with Derek, but he also would give anything to see that soft smile again.

Stiles drives the car in silence behind the Camaro because he needs to have a talk with his own head about what it is he's doing right now. Derek is so far out of his league it's ridiculous, and not just speaking in baseball terms.

First of all, Derek's in college and he's always been a major big shot in the town as well as a popular college guy. He visits his family all the time - they're supposed to be pretty close from what Stiles hears around school. He really should’ve expected a dark-haired girl with cutting jaw structure to be related to him. Second, Derek is amazing at baseball. College scouts would come to the games since the guy’s sophomore year and it wasn’t unwarranted either. He had scouts from all over the country, even Vanderbilt, who won the recent championship. Yet still, Derek chose UCLA to stay close to _home_.

The ride is over before he knows it and he's pulling into the driveway of a small ranch house, squeezing his Jeep in between the other cars as best as he can. He can hear the music playing inside the house from the driveway. Stiles catches up to Derek once they walk up to the front door, not necessarily wanting to be left behind just yet.

He can do this. If he can get Derek alone for a moment, it’d be the perfect location to humiliate himself. He can just shuffle the guy to the door, casually ask about a date, get rejected and pop into his car and leave. It’s not like he knows anyone here besides Cora - it’s all Derek’s friends from college who are too cool and don’t know his name.

The door opens and a gorgeous blonde with red hot lipstick opens the door to grin at Derek.

"Get in here, Boyd and Isaac are about to do a beer pong faceoff," She looks excited to watch the competition and Stiles can immediately tell she's a cool, fierce chick. Lydia and her would be a force to be reckoned with if ever put together. It almost makes Stiles hope for rejection. Almost.

Derek smirks and steps into the house with his younger sister, Cora, and gestures at Stiles to come in as well.

"Erica, this is my friend, Stiles," he gestures, with his hand hovering between Stiles' shoulder blades. He's not sure if Derek is just that much of a people person that he considers everyone a friend or he's just ignoring an introduction that paints Stiles as a random guy he ran into that works too much.

He admittedly melts at the manners and can't help but feel appreciative of being called a friend just to avoid awkwardness.

"Ooh, aren't you precious?" She immediately runs a hand over his shoulder and Stiles backs up and laughs nervously.

"Okay there, Gollum," the retort is instinct and Stiles worries for a second that he might've said something wrong but Erica's grin turns brighter and she laughs loud.

"I like him, we can keep him," she says to Derek. His skin flushes a little at that, feeling proud to get approval from one of Derek's friends.

Erica looks between him and Derek for a moment before tugging on his wrist roughly and pulling him through a hallway. She takes him to the living room, where there's a small crowd circling the beer pong table.

"This is a place where kids attempt to pretend they're not broke and working forty hours a week. We don't bite, I promise. That's Isaac," she says, pointing out a blonde guy with a blue scarf who looks like a male model. "He's a rolling stone on the surface until he opens his mouth and becomes a puppy."

Stiles grins as she placates him with more and more sideline descriptions, he knows he's not the only high school person here, but he is probably the only stranger, so knowing others' names does ease the intimidation. There's Boyd, the epitome of silent strength and a calm ocean. Justin, the hipster who preaches when he's high and surprisingly the only one of all them with connections to hard drugs. Stiles kept his mouth shut when Erica said that though, biting back how it wasn't that shocking at all.

“Now that you know everyone, party on, young man," Erica says sweetly, handing him a bottled beer. He takes a sip and is glad for the way it burns down his throat.

"What about Derek? What's his one-sentence description?" Stiles asks, joking but also serious in wondering how Derek's friends see him.

"I would've thought you'd know," she mentions, then hums thoughtfully, "In my perspective, he's the guy you know will back you up no matter what."

Erica then begins a personal interview, asks him all sorts of weird questions, like wanting to know what grade he was in, what he does for fun, his talents. Stiles has to think through some of his answers, he's never thought of himself as more than ordinary. Stiles flushes and stutters through a lot of answers but widens his eyes when Erica mentions Derek has talked about him before. He feels like he’s missing something important, seeing as Derek barely had any idea who he was simply a few days ago, while Stiles is the creep that tracked his life through high school.

Erica is handing him a shot now, and he's too happy around here to pass it up. He tosses it back and wipes the back of his mouth with a smile when Erica raises her eyebrows looking impressed.

He rolls his eyes, "This isn't my first rodeo. I can hold my own."

"Really now? Could I challenge you to a game of beer pong, Mr. Stilinski?" Erica asks, a mischievous smile on her face. Derek finally sneaks over beside him but not enough to freak him out. He's a little more relaxed now, whether it be the party or the liquid courage.

"Let's do teams," Derek suggests with a small smile between the two of them. "Me and Stiles against you and Cora."

"That's hardly fair when you've got a baseball arm," she pouts for a moment and then smirks when Derek glares at her. "Fine."

"Just use that softball arm!" Stiles shouts after her when she goes after Cora.

Erica flips him off.

Derek's staring at him intensely while he laughs and Stiles can't help but feel the intensity of it run through his spine.

"You should know Erica and Boyd have been together since freshman year of college," Derek comments and he actually sounds a little angry but Stiles can't tell why.

"Huh?" Stiles asks confused and then it clicks. " _Oh_ , you thought? No, no, I promise Erica's just a cool chick. Plus it's obvious she's a goner - what with her describing him as a ‘ _hunk of dark, delicious sculpted chocolate_ ’."

Derek looks relieved and amused for some reason, "Holy shit, she is drunk."

"Oh yeah, plastered," Stiles laughs, "Not my type anyways, I'm probably 75 percent gay. Maybe 80 percent? I don't like math," Stiles likes to drink but _hates_ the way his mouth has even less of a filter than when he’s sober. The man’s eyes are some Garden of Eden depth in green when he meets them. They’re crinkling at the sides in understanding, but his pupils are shining in secret mirth. Derek seems to brighten at the last bit of information though.

"Really? I thought you were a genius or something. Cora said you were top of the class. Erica's like a sister to me. God knows why," Derek’s laugh comes easy to him, full of a familiar and special love. "It's not like I don't already have enough."

"Second actually, I'm beat by my best friend, Lydia, and totally okay with it. Yeah, you got a big family, don't you?" Stiles asks, smiling back because god, the laugh was infectious and he’s already hooked, he wants to know more.

He doesn't get an answer or to delve into Derek's personal life because Erica's hollering them over by the table. Stiles is grateful he can be who he is here, but it still doesn’t stop his mind from running in circles as he wonders how far Derek’s casual reaction goes in its sincerity. He could be seeing what he wants to but it still resonates that he loosened up even more with the mention of Stiles’ sexuality, like he understands because he _is_ something, like he wanted Stiles to be something too. It’s fucking with his head a little bit. Or the alcohol. Probably the alcohol.

“Are you sons of bitches ready?!” Erica shouts excitedly, finishing on a cheerful howl.

So this beer pong thing is like a _real_ thing here, then? They keep score and teams and keep calm and roar on? Stiles is simultaneously awed and terrified.

He likes sports. He's appreciative of Derek Jeter existing even if he's against the Yankees. The Rams have been having shitty defense and letting him down in football, but that's a price paid easily when there's a bunch of other good teams in the country. He likes playing the NBA games on his X-Box and he's semi-sufficient at lacrosse in the sense that he doesn't fall down all the time, but he's awful at actually _playing_ sports.

Okay, so Stiles is aware that beer pong is in no way a sport, but if he has to aim while inebriated, it’s at least a challenge to his aiming skills. His lack of them.

The two of them are standing at their end of the table when Stiles bumps his shoulder against Derek's and leans in helplessly, whispering his confession, "I'm so fucking bad at this game, dude."

Derek doesn't seem mad, just huffs a little with a short laugh, "That should be refreshing."

There are people gathering around their game and it makes Stiles nervous but these are pretty cool people that live here and they don't seem to judge him for being a stranger as much as he thought they would.

Derek lets him take the first shot and barely resists smirking when Stiles misses and the ball bounces off the table. Stiles shoots him a quick death glare and mouths, ‘Asshole.’

When he laughs out loud though, it’s almost like Stiles has been repaid for missing the shot in the first place.

 

\-----

 

The living room is dim as ‘Psycho’ plays on in the background. It’s an old horror movie he’s already seen before, so he didn’t feel a need to join in on other people’s new experiences. Stiles had gone to the kitchen, thinking he’d drink some water and sit down for a little bit, browse his phone, but a shadow had come in front of his view. He looked behind him and saw Derek standing under the arch, lips turned up in a smirk. He was doomed right then, everything shifted inside him.

Stiles remembered Derek differently from his high school years. He remembered him as glorious and hard-working, as successful and beautiful – this is nothing in comparison. Derek is tangible here, he’s a genuine person, not just an ideal or a high horse that he probably put in his own head while gazing from afar. A part of him feels like every time he called Derek a crush in that life, his younger years or whatever, was wrong, because what did he even really know about Derek then? The real thing is messier, making his stomach happily nauseous. Making his heart constrict and release at the same time.

The best and worst part of it all is that Derek makes him laugh too.

“Oh, come on,” Stiles giggles and doesn’t even attempt to hold it in. “That can’t be common. I think you’re making it up to minimize blame for thinking a college dude sleeping was a bench?”

“No, I swear!” Derek says, shaking his head with a grin, “Just two weeks ago, I saw some sorority girl sit on some guy’s face.” His face flushes when he closes his eyes and groans, “ _Not_ what I meant, damn it.”

“You what?” He’s throwing his head back before he can control it, the loud laugh escaping his throat and continuing. He takes a few breaths in and out, chuckles once more and the smiles stays on his face even when he catches Derek’s mouth slightly parted and his eyes intense. “Are you sure you didn’t sit on the guy’s face?”

It seems to snap Derek out of whatever reverie he was in and he simply rolls his eyes at what Stiles’ said, instead going into a pleased silence.

“You’re the worst,” he says without a speck of truth. And yeah, Stiles can hear it, that he’s actually awesome.

“Thank you.”   

 

\-----

 

It's getting pretty late in the night. People are strewn across the living room, settling into comfortable places to sleep. He hasn’t had a drink since the beer pong face-off hours ago. It’s reaching into the 5 in the morning, but it’s a Sunday, and so Stiles feels like the whole world is still in a deep sleep. Maybe not the world but at least most of Beacon Hills.

Even so, the sun’s coming up and the night can’t last forever, he's pretty sober now and he should probably get on his way home.

"Stiles," Derek says, surprised when Stiles walks up to him and Erica sitting and talking quietly on the porch outside. The sky is both a deep purple and a gradual blue as the sun tries to break through leftover clouds. He smiles at them and has a brief intense moment where he’s grateful to have had such a wonderful, worry-free night, a night that made him feel alive.

"Hey guys, it's getting pretty late, I should go if I want any sleep," he rubs at the back of his neck with the palm of his hand, feeling his soft hairs sticking out. Growing out his hair was the best idea Lydia's ever had for him. But maybe Derek is something that happens to him. "Thank you for inviting me and,” then to Erica, “thank you for letting me hang out in your home.”

“Well, I only do that with the promise that you’ll be back sometime,” Erica says, smiling politely at him but still looks like she’d somehow reign hell on him if he refused. It’s a good thing he's not at all against making femme fatale friends.

Stiles snickers genuinely, sparing a quick look at Derek, “Of course, that’d be fun. I had a wonderful time tonight.” His cheeks feel a bit hotter but he ignores it and hopes it isn’t too obvious that one of the main reasons was because of the man who’s standing up.

"I'm glad you did. I'll walk you out to your car? I could go for a cigarette anyways," Derek admits, looking slightly ashamed about it but it only stirs Stiles' fluttering eagerness for something, he's not sure yet. He voices his agreement enthusiastically, completely missing Erica’s knowing look between them before snorting under her breath. When they both reach Stiles' Jeep, he lingers by the door and feels his fingers itch for something more. He can’t just leave it like this, right? This is probably it, the chance Lydia told him he was waiting for. Stiles, for all fears and purposes, doesn’t think he knows how to take it the right way.

"So how'd that start?" Stiles asks, gesturing to the cigarette dangling in Derek's mouth. He's tempted to have one, despite never liking it that much except on a very rare, plastered occasion when some random person at Lydia's parties happens to have one.

"Uh, to put it shortly, I was going through a bad breakup and some extra stress without any bad vices, so I thought smoking would help," Derek admits, shrugging about it.

Stiles files away the information about the breakup for another day and nods understandingly, "Ah, did it?"

"For a while. Now I kind of like it, even though Cora keeps telling me it's too predictable of someone who wears boring colors all the time."

"If it works, it works," he replies watching as Derek blows the smoke out through his lips. He'd be a fool to not see the alluring aspect of smoking when Derek does it. He’d also be a fool to not know that it wasn’t the healthiest coping method. “I hope you have some kind of plan though, Roger Maris was a legend, but don’t lose your life too soon.”

"I do," Derek confirms thoughtfully and almost looks like he wants to say something else but doesn’t. He flashes a grin, charming and practiced, "Well, I'll see you around. Give me your phone and I'll put my number in so we can hang out sometime or whatever."

This would be a perfect opportunity to act out the charming speech he had in his back pocket to ask him out, but Stiles no longer feels smooth, and instead, he’s starting to see there is more pain Derek’s hiding than just the good things he’d heard – that one night is not enough and he thinks he’s gonna have to take forever to learn more, almost like he’s greedy for it. Hanging out is more than he expected and less than he wanted, but it still sounds perfect to him.

He watches as Derek types into his phone and gets into his Jeep, suddenly the last of the cars aside from a few of the people who were staying over. "Thank you."

"Text me," Derek says handing the phone back through the rolled down window, smiling and honest and of fucking course he will text the guy of his high school dreams, it's a given.

Stiles goes home and crashes into his bed as soon as he enters his room, the sun is already peeking through the blinds but he’s too tired to care. His eyelids are dropping down and before he sleeps, he hopes that he doesn’t dream of Derek, but sees him in person again soon.

 

\-----

 

Scott passes over the joint to him and laughs at something Louis C.K. says in stand-up. Stiles sighs heavily, checking at his phone. He's been thinking a lot about what exactly he should say to Derek, finding himself completely blank and second-guessing. He thought it'd be easy, but he can't come up with anything that doesn't sound obvious or typical in his mind.

The fact that he settles for "Hey, this is Stiles" and sends it before he can think better of it, is probably irony at its finest for being so monosyllabic.

"Thanks man," Stiles tells Scott once he passes and takes a dragging, long hit of the joint.

Scott looks between him and the TV and sighs heavily. "Okay, out with it."

"Huh? Out with what?" Stiles looks at the screen, trying to double check if Scott was talking about something from stand up.

Scott waves his arm around, gesturing somewhere along the vicinity of Stiles' torso. "You're all _gloomy_ and weird and obsessed with your phone."

"Well, it's just that -"

His phone buzzes and Scott jumps up in response and grabs it off the table first. Stiles topples over his best friend, "No! Gimme! My phone! _Scott_!"

Scott runs around the room and reads the text while he does so, because he is immature like that and Stiles hates him.

" _Derek Hale_?! You're texting _him_?" Scott's shocked little 'o' face is exactly why he didn't want to tell Scott.

The thing is Stiles is a fan of Derek's talent and yeah, he went to all the games their high school had and a few of the recent college ones too on some very rare, special weekends.

But mostly because _Scott_ dragged him. Scott believes that Derek is going to be the next Joe DiMaggio reincarnated and succeed somewhere and be the pitcher that the Giants _seriously_ need one day. He's a total fanboy. (Without much reluctance, Stiles completely understands. Derek is that good at his signature curveball and striking someone out. And the Giants have let him down over and over again.)

"Can you get me his autograph?" Is the first question Scott actually has, but he'll chalk it up to his best bud being high.

"No, _what_ , he's not famous. Don't be ridiculous," he scoffs, but underneath it he's actually considering asking if there's a non-creepy way to do so.

"How did this happen? Do we need Real Talk?" Scott asks, crossing his arms over and looking dead serious. It's a thing they do sometimes - ask each other simple, serious yes or no questions.

"Ugh," Stiles groans. "No, we don't need Real Talk. He comes to the gas station sometimes and invited me to a party last night. It's not a big deal."

"You went to a party without me?" Scott pouts, "And yeah, it is! You crushed on the guy for years!"

"That's - I mean -" He takes a fast inhale, adamantly says, “He's just some guy.” But the lie is evident even to him and he winces at the words.

Scott just gives him an upset look of disbelief and tilts his head, like he was putting up with Stiles’ misery for stupid reasons. "How could you not tell me?" The joint has gone out and Stiles feels some guilt enter his veins. "Real Talk. You're friends with him then?"

"I'd like to use a wildcard and answer maybe."

"That's not how the game -- fine, you like him?" Scott crosses his arms and he just knows he can't lie to his best friend anyways.

" _Yes_ ," Stiles groans, "But it's like - I don't know. I want to _really_ get to know him, all of it, with him telling me. Lydia told me I should just ask him out."

“Are you going to?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, looking away from his best friend and thinking about if it was even possible.

"Okay. One more. He nice to you?"

Stiles feels himself go a little soft at that, because he knows that if Derek was an asshole or a total jerk, Scott would immediately forget about the guy (or at least follow his career in secret). "Of course he is. Yes. And the next party, I'm definitely dragging you with me, it was super last minute, dude, I would never leave you behind."

"Cool," Scott finishes, nodding his head. "Anyways, he wants to hang out. Can you light that joint back up now?" Scott throws him his phone but his brain is still trying to catch up to what he just heard.

"He what now?" Stiles asks, mind blank. All Stiles said was hey, how on earth did that manage to get him an offer to spend time with him this fast?

"Read it yourself, man. If you ask me though, I don’t think he’d say no to you. I forbid you from going anywhere until we finish smoking this though," Scott says, pointing at the screen.

"I wasn't going to run out on you," Stiles retorts, this time rolling his eyes when Scott raises his eyebrows and snorts like he doesn't believe him. He opens his phone though and glances at the text, feeling bubbly all over.

_Hey! What are you up to? I'm trying to escape Erica and Cora shopping. Who the hell shops when hungover?_

Scott looks at him, obviously trying to contain his laughter as Stiles blushed and typed out a reply saying his schedule frees up in about an hour. Whatever, Scott can laugh as much as he wants to, Stiles knows he wasn't kidding about the autograph.

Before he leaves, Scott waves a hand at him and says, loudly, “Let me know if you're gonna have his babies!”

Stiles feels the flush all the way up his neck, chucks a pillow at his best friend as violently as possible and answers resolutely, “Fuck you.”

 

\-----

 

He pulls his Jeep into a diner Derek mentioned meeting him at called Lucy's Kitchen. When he arrives, he sees a table in the far left side, Erica and Cora sitting on one side of the booth, leaving the only spot next to his old crush. Derek's wearing a baseball cap with the Angels’ simple logo and it makes his lips quirk up, trying to force down a smile. He was so, so fucked.

Not to mention that he didn't expect the two girls to be joining them, suddenly worried that they'll see right through him and spill all about his embarrassing long-standing, one-sided crush. Still, he's been doing his best to be himself and coolly collected as well so he walks over with a genuine smile, sliding into the booth beside Derek.

“How's it going, guys?” He greets, hoping it's not obvious his heart is pounding from the warmth of Derek's body next to his. Christ, is he always this easily affected?

“Stiles,” Erica chimes brightly, with a sharp edge to her red-painted grin that makes him feel a prickle of concern. This was a catwoman here, he could tell. “We've been telling Derek that he can't expect to go through his whole life wearing a cap and a basic t-shirt like a classic pro-sport cliché. What do you think?”

Instead of answering right away, he turns to Derek on his right and tries to quickly look him over, but then he sees the way Derek's tan forearms have veins and the baby blue shirt stands out against his skin. The cap is showing his big ears and highlights his dark eyelashes under the hood and so to him, he's pretty sure the guy is too fucking beautiful. He swallows quickly and looks back to both of them, quickly answering, “He looks fine.”

Cora looks like she's about to reply to that with something really, really awful and he can't look next to him for the reaction he gauged so he quietly sighs in relief when the waitress appears next to the table and introduces herself.

“Ignore them, they live to ruin my life,” Derek says jokingly, the blush gone from his cheeks. It’s after the waitress has left and everybody has finished ordering their drinks. The tension is eased from his shoulders in a manner and he feels better, chances a glance and sees the smirk painted on the man's face.

“So, Stiles, you're a senior like Cora, right?” Erica asks curiously, messing with straw with faux innocence.

“Yes…” he says, frowning and waiting for the punchline.

“So you’re gonna be 18 soon, probably?” she says, smiling and suddenly, there’s a quiet bang under the table and Cora is exclaiming loudly in pain.

“What the fuck, Derek?” she glares, muttering under her breath.

“I turned 18 three months ago, in August, actually,” he replies kindly, while looking strangely at Derek, who’s flushed again for some inexplicable reason, and then back to Cora. He doesn’t get it, really, the whole sibling eye thing they’re doing.

“Well! That’s fantastic!” Erica says back and then dramatically gasps after a moment of silence. “Cora! We totally forgot to go check out Rue 21 for the leggings sale! We have to go!”

“But I just ordered my fucking drink –”

“You _know_ what happened to the red ones when you borrowed them. We _have_ to go,” Erica interrupts aggressively, looking at her friend with a fierceness that slightly terrifies Stiles as he watches on. There’s a tense moment of complete quiet and then Cora is grumbling under her breath and sliding out of the booth, gathering her purse and phone. She pushes Erica forward with a light shove at her shoulders, urging them to the door faster, and really, what the hell is the hurry?

The waitress comes back with four drinks just as they send a quick apology her way and then scurry out of the door. The woman then smiles at them, setting just two of the drinks down and asking if they’re ready to order.

Stiles, who is still trying to understand what just happened, orders a cheeseburger and fries before he can let it faze him.

Derek stutters through his order and for some reason, it makes him feel better about the situation, like he’s not the only one confused.

The shopping sounded like a quick excuse to get out of there. Besides, what does it matter if he’s 18? He can’t do anything except buy tobacco products and – _oh_. Okay, so he can legally date adults since he’s also an adult (that’s something he still doesn’t understand much), but that seriously couldn’t be what she was implying, right?

Holy shit.

When the waitress finally leaves, Stiles is left a blushing mess who realizes that this could practically be considered a date.

But Derek is –

Talking to him. Now.

“–about that. They’re insane,” he frankly states, and then seems to crumble a bit and lean forward and Stiles’ eyes shamefully go right to the man’s elbows on the table and arms flexing with the movement, fuck – fuck, he really wants to date Derek. “But they’re great even if they meddle. I swear, I was going to ask you out the right way or give it time, but they’re so _pushy_ and I’m really bad at – what? Why are you looking at me like that?” Derek finishes his rant, looking over Stiles’ face with a flush that seems to have a reason now.

Stiles is grinning stupidly, he’s sure, but the words are on a loop in his brain, making his heart pound faster and a happy lurch float through his stomach.

“You were going to ask me out?”

Derek’s eyes widen comically when he realizes what he’s said out loud and his fearful expression disappears when his eyes shut suddenly and a cringe is on his face in mortification.

“You went to all my games during senior year,” the ballplayer blurts out.

Stiles’ jaw drops, feels the urge to protect himself, but then –

“I know because I _looked_ , I had the best season possible and I was convinced I owed it all to the kid who wrote the fucking Babe Ruth quote with a picture of A Cinderella Story onto a neon sign,” he pauses and finds the soft smile on Stiles’ face easily and relaxes himself, grinning for good measure, “God, it sounds so stupid now, but I never forgot about it,” Derek is shaking his head to himself, “It made me laugh every time because I knew _exactly_ where it was from thanks to my sisters’ strange obsession with that movie, but it still helped me out.”

“It’s a classic motto,” Stiles agrees and pretends his heart is not soaring, “And I would have gladly followed Cinderella’s baseball prowess if the movie went in that direction.”

Derek hums softly in agreement, gives him a sadder smile like he’s been discouraged here and now, and no, Stiles won’t let that happen.

“You said you didn’t know me,” Stiles states, trying to remember the encounter at the gas station correctly from his addled and tired brain that night.

“Actually, I asked if I did know you,” he points out with a brief smirk, then his gaze rakes slowly over Stiles’ shoulders, his neck, his arms. “And besides, you’ve _definitely_ changed since then.”

Stiles ducks his head, the warmth rushing to his face and unable to help the smile forming. He brings his hands together in front of him on the table, pressing his thumbs together as he bites his lip and then lets it go, exhales loudly and says, “I only ever went to the games to see you. Scott brought me to the first one, I almost complained the whole time, but then - fuck, after I saw you hit a homerun, you threw off your helmet and laughed. I was hooked then. I think I still thought about you after you left,” he breathes deeply, intensely aware of his heart beating faster and the truth he never even admitted to himself spilling out of his mouth first is overwhelming. “And now, you’re telling me you think I’m hot and you want to date me so I think I’m dreaming a little. Cause the guy I met last night is incredible.”

“So yes,” Stiles answers, meeting Derek's eyes and nearly losing his breath at the joy showing in them. “This can be our first date.”

Derek slowly smiles and licks his lips, then he says quietly, “I’m kind of tempted to just leave now.”

Stiles is not an idiot. Stiles is also not even the slightest bit hungry for food, so he’s already reaching in his back pocket and nodding enthusiastically, “Yes. Absolutely, let’s go.”

Derek’s eyebrows raise and asks in surprise, “Really?”

Stiles has already put down enough bills to cover the food and tip and is sliding out of the booth, smiling at Derek who looks a little dumbfounded, so he reaches out his hand as a gesture and says certainly, “Yeah, we have to go make out.”

Derek nearly knocks over a drink when he stands up suddenly but his hand is suddenly in Stiles’ grasp so he follows easily as they walk out of the diner. He can feel that Derek’s hands are wider, have more calluses in his palm from baseball. It’s a good feeling in his chest now so as soon as they’re outside, he’s completely taken aback when Derek stops him with his hand around Stiles’ wrist and turns him around and plants one on him, right fucking there.

His eyes are still open and his brain takes a second but Derek’s tongue gently traces his bottom lip and he shivers, no longer feeling his toes, and opens his mouth, getting with the goddamn program, because he did promise this. It’s gentle and careful at once, like they’re both trying to handle something really special in their hands.

He just didn’t _expect_ this, Derek’s arm slides around his waist and it’s warm and he’s being pulled closer, kissed harder for even longer, can feel the fingertips at his back and he moans for a second right into Derek’s mouth because all of it feels too good. He has to pull away to breathe and when he does, Derek presses a gentle kiss to his jaw as his other arm comes around him, fully enclosing Stiles in his embrace and he’s sure he can feel both of their heartbeats.

“Where should we go now?” Stiles breathes out, laughing airily as his panting slows down.

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek says tenderly against his skin, breath passing over his neck. Stiles nearly shivers but it could be the sudden wind. He smiles and presses a quick kiss to Derek’s lips again and pulls away to look him in the eye.

“Absolutely. Let’s go,” he repeats, and reaches behind his back to find Derek’s hand with his own and his arms loosen but his fingers tighten back and then they’re walking, and it’s good.

It’s really good.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :D
> 
> Please feel free to let me know of any mistakes!


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